


“Anything thou likest.”

by ExtraPenguin



Category: The Goblin Emperor - Katherine Addison
Genre: Dazhis POV, Emotional Manipulation, M/M, Magic Bondage, Shitbastard Dazhis, Tentacles
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-01
Updated: 2016-07-01
Packaged: 2018-07-19 10:55:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,601
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7358425
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ExtraPenguin/pseuds/ExtraPenguin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>A particularly useful tool was Cala. Naïve, kind, fundamentally gullible Cala.</i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	“Anything thou likest.”

Dazhis had not grown up in squalor. His father had had a respectable income, if one that was divided between too many children.

Nevertheless, he had vowed to do better himself. He drafted plans, good ones where every road lead to a victory: plans on how to get an Imperial job, plans on marrying a woman somewhat above his station and riding on the coattails of her family, studies of the best way to win Imperial favor...

It was exactly Dazhis' luck that he had mazeise talent. With the vow of poverty, he said goodbye to his family name, which he had never been attached to, and to his plans at advancing his station, which he had been very much attached to.

He spent the first year at the Athmaz'are seething. Perhaps, should he intentionally fail everything, they'd send him back. Perhaps.

Then after the first year, old Teha Adremaza kicked the bucket. His replacement was one of the dachenmazei who'd been studying useless shit like magically woven cloth, Sehalis.

After a year of crickets, Dazhis' plotting mind clicked again into action. If he must be consigned to this shitpile, he might as well be at the top of the shitpile. Even Sehalis, more restrained and less decrepit than Teha, would die eventually. Dazhis must simply put himself into the best position. He threw himself into his studies like a starving man might throw himself to food.

A particularly useful tool was Cala. Naïve, kind, fundamentally gullible Cala. Dazhis knew that were he the quiet one in their friendship, everyone would assume that he, too, was kind and insightful. Dazhis fully intended to keep Cala around as a smokescreen for as long as was necessary.

Cala was also a romantic idiot who'd gotten a crush on Dazhis, of all people, and was convinced of his fundamental ugliness. He was not that ugly, not really, so Dazhis decided to take him as a lover.

Did no-one suspect a thing? Were they all as gullible and unsuspecting as Cala? This would be easier than anything Dazhis had planned for. He sat back with the smug satisfaction of a man who knows he's the most ruthless bastard in the place.

 

“I- I am unworthy of thee”, Cala said.

Really? Really? “Shh”, Dazhis reassured him. “Thou art.” Reassure for kindness. Nourish the self-doubt for utility. “Perhaps thou couldst do something to prove thyself worthy of me, to shut down those thoughts?” A sufficiently kind and concerned expression, and Cala would swallow anything, up to and including Dazhis' cock.

“That- seems like a sound idea”, Cala convinced himself. “What should I do?” he asked.

“Well, what wouldst thou like to do?” Dazhis asked, knowing all of Cala's weaknesses. He'd probably throw himself to Dazhis' feet and beg for the opportunity to please Dazhis sexually to compensate for his “ugliness”. Very well, Dazhis was all right with that.

“How- how may I please thee with matters of the mattress?” Cala asked, not quite making eye contact, ears drooping. “We are... quite unlovely. Surely you need compensation.”

Dazhis plastered on his sweet-and-kind expression. “I don't. But if thou _truly_ wantest...” Make him chase. Make him put effort into it and thus want it, desire it completely.

“I do!” Cala said, on his knees before Dazhis, staring at him in the eyes, enraptured, possessed. This was easy. Dazhis had spent years making sure it would be easy.

Dazhis leaned down from his chair and kissed Cala on the mouth, first chastely, then slightly more deeply, taking care to withdraw before Cala was properly satisfied.

“What wouldst thou like to do?” he asked. He had, of course, done research by reading blue-backed novels, but he needed to know what Cala liked so as to properly snare him.

“Anything”, Cala breathed. “Anything thou likest.”

Gods, how useless an answer. Next time, Dazhis would present to him a checklist with tickboxes of _yes, no, whatever_. “Wouldst like to get tied up? Caressed all over? Feel me within thee?”

“ _Yes_ ”, Cala said, a passionate fire blazing in his eyes, dilated behind his glasses. He swallowed. “Yes, I would, for all of them.”

Dazhis had taught himself two spells for the purpose. Before next time, he'd have to practice a few more, in addition to psychological tricks. “Remove thy clothes.”

Cala shucked off his clothes, piling them in a reasonably neat heap on Dazhis' bedroom floor. Then, he began shyly avoiding Dazhis' gaze. Idiot. His body was symmetrical and elven, with smooth skin, not some hideous lumpy monstrosity.

It took all of Dazhis' mental control to not roll his eyes. Instead, he said, “Thou'rt lovely indeed”, and smiled reassuringly. Then, he removed his own clothes in a similar utilitarian fashion (he would have to investigate this “seductive undressing” beloved of so many ladies in the blue-backed novels) and pushed Cala to the bed and landed on top of him.

Cala had an expression more befitting some obscure imperial relation who'd grown up in a swamp and then been woken up in the middle of the night to be told that he was the Emperor now than a man about to get fucked. Dazhis gently mouthed his ear to break the annoyingly repetitive self-doubts, and was rewarded by Cala's expression transmuting to one of pure pleasure.

Cala writhed beneath him in a most appealing fashion, and soon he was hard and aching. He released Cala's ear and whispered into it. “I suppose I should show thee what I promised...”

Cala, entranced, whispered only “ _Yes, please_ ” in a hoarse voice.

Dazhis inhaled deeply, then quickly stepped into the necessary mind-state for summoning up the tentacles, and cast the spell with a lax wave of the hand. Translucent tentacles erupted out of the ether, and Dazhis set them to work, caressing Cala, tying Cala's hands together, lifting and separating Cala's legs.

Cala appeared to be going mad from the overstimulation in ways that made Dazhis' cock twitch. He cast another, easier spell that had Cala's hole temporarily producing its own lubricant. He sent a tentacle to probe Cala's reaction.

Cala's reaction was hard to read, for he was seemingly both trying to push into and evade the touch of every tentacle, panting and moaning all the while. Dazhis would have been annoyed had he not been so aroused. He directed the tentacles at Cala's cock to ease their ministrations.

The tentacle probing within Cala seemed not to cause any increased discomfort, and from the view through the translucent tentacle, the lubricant spell seemed to be working perfectly. He leaned to Cala's ear. “Should I bring thee to crisis like this, or should I slip into thee?” he purred.

Cala's voice was hoarse and desperate. “Within me. Please, _Dazhis_.”

“Ssh, it's all right, pet”, he said, squeezed a bit of Cala's arm that wasn't receiving a tentacle's attentions at that moment, and sat between Cala's legs.

Thrusting was generally considered a good thing in the blue-backed novels, and would be awkward from this angle. Dazhis considered for a moment, then called forth more tentacles to lift Cala up. (Cala moaned, seemingly on the brink of crisis already.) He had the penetrating tentacle make a final dive deeper in, stretching Cala, before he recalled it and had it go caress another piece of Cala.

Dazhis aimed and slipped into Cala. To his great embarrassment, he could only describe the sensation in the cliché terms so beloved of the blue-backed novels' authors: so tight, so slick, and above all, so _warm…_

He simply kept still for a moment so as not to reach crisis embarrassingly fast. When he trusted himself to open his eyes, Cala had his mouth plastered shut. Irked, Dazhis assigned some tentacles to pry it open and thrust into Cala's sweet mouth.

As usual, Cala liked the intrusion into his mouth, and writhed and moaned appreciatively. Dazhis moved slowly, finding proper thrusting excessively hard, what with Cala bucking and writhing with everything he had.

Annoyed, Dazhis gripped Cala's hips so that they would stay still, and then thrust properly. He had to suppress a moan of his own; the amount of friction was just right. He continued thrusting, deep and fast, breath catching in his throat, oh, Cala felt _so good_... He didn't mind having Cala keep trying to “compensate” for his “hideous appearance”. Why, he should probably encourage it.

Then Cala finally reached crisis and _trembled_ deliciously, which made him squeeze Dazhis' cock, and Dazhis reached his own crisis with a small groan.

Soon, Dazhis recovered enough to extricate himself and then recall the tentacles, still holding Cala up and caressing him. Cala was set down on the bed. The description “fucked silly”, found in some blue-backed novels, was rather apt.

Dazhis planned for a moment, then decided that after sex, Cala could have what he wanted. Were dogs not rewarded when they did something the owner liked, no? Dazhis cast a final spell to clean both of them and the bedsheets from sweat and other fluids, then lay down next to Cala, an arm draped possessively over him.

It took a moment longer for Cala to recover his ability to speak. “Didst thou like that?” he asked, as much desperation in his voice as he could muster when he was so sated.

“Yes”, Dazhis said, reassuringly. “I did.” He squeezed Cala and wormed in closer.

Cala turned towards him, a nauseatingly goopy expression on his face, and curled up close against Dazhis.

Dazhis played along, as he always did. One day- one day, all of this would pay off, in ways more permanent than orgasms.


End file.
